“I just got a call from a reporter at the Herald. He knew my name and that I was running the task force. Any idea how he came by that information?”
Sam’s face went blank, which she knew from working with him meant he was considering lying. His eyes always gave him away — a dart to the right, just for a second, even though he’d obviously practiced his poker face. She would have been able to beat him every time if they had been playing for money. Maybe if all else failed that was an option for funding Ben.
“Damn. I’m sorry. He must have heard your name when we were at the Herald offices. I might have mentioned it, or Simkins could have. I honestly don’t remember. But that’s the only thing I can think of.”
Completely non-disprovable and appeared to be taking the blame for both of them. Sam would do well in politics, she decided. Very polished.
“Hmm. I can see where that could happen. Listen, Sam, since I have you here, I want to get something else out in the open. I’ve been noticing that you seem to have a problem with many of my decisions lately. That’s coming out in your tone as well as our interactions. What’s that about?”
Sam shrugged. “We aren’t always going to agree on everything.”
“See? That’s what I mean. Your demeanor is flippant and disrespectful. No, let me finish.” She held up her hand so he wouldn’t interrupt — she could see that he was going to argue. “Sam, I don’t want a bunch of automatons on my team. I don’t need a group of yes-men. But I do expect respect, just as I treat everyone else with it. I don’t have to explain myself or put up with any thinly veiled, snarky bullshit. If you can’t get your attitude back in line, I’ll transfer you elsewhere — do I make myself clear? If you have a personal problem with me, then let’s hear it, because otherwise I expect you to get your act together and start behaving like a professional.” Silver was using her mommy tone automatically, and Sam had stiffened as she spoke.
“I…I’m sorry, Silver. I didn’t realize I was pushing the limits. I…”
“Sam. You’re a talented agent. I understand you may think you know a better way to do things than I do. And I don’t mind hearing about it. What I’m telling you is that your attitude needs adjusting. I don’t want to make this into a huge deal, but over the last few weeks you’ve become increasingly adversarial. So consider this fair warning. I don’t want to get into it with you, but if I have to make a formal request to get you off this team, I will. I think we would both be poorer for that so I’m approaching you unofficially. We have a killer who’s out there planning another murder, and we need to work together or he’s going to keep killing. Am I clear?”
Sam looked shaken. He’d obviously believed he could keep needling her and get away with it. She knew his type. The Bureau was full of them. Men who resented working for a woman, or who believed that they could do things better. She’d dealt with that attitude throughout her training and career, so she recognized it a mile away. She just wasn’t going to tolerate it on her task force.
“I…I get it. Again, it wasn’t intentional.”
Of course it was intentional. If she’d been a male supervisor, he wouldn’t have dared to pull these stunts.
None of which she said. The message had been delivered, and hopefully, received. It was actually harder to transfer an agent than she’d made it seem — there would be messy interviews, and she would be suspect for having been too sensitive or judgmental. She knew how things worked. She would be on the defensive because the system would assume that she had over-reacted and couldn’t handle a little criticism or healthy dissention.
Sam stood and Silver nodded. The meeting was at an end.
“One more thing. How’s the traffic cam study coming? That’s about all we have in terms of promising leads. It’s one of the reasons I gave it to you — I need it done thoroughly and correctly the first time.” It wouldn’t hurt to praise him a little now. A slap on the face followed by a pat on the head usually worked wonders.
“It’s going well. I’m hopeful we have it finished within twenty-four hours. The facial recognition software is next, but it can be buggy. I’m going over every match personally. There are a lot of them. It’s a busy area.”
“Let’s hope we get a hit. Thanks for putting in the time, Sam.” She studied him. “Are we good?”
He shrugged again, but this time with no attitude. “Sure. No problem.”
Sam opened the door and went back to his area. Silver groaned; she hated that kind of confrontation, but it had to be done.
Returning to the reporter’s call, she logged the discussion and typed in a few quick notes, then picked up a stack of paperwork from her inbox that she’d been delaying dealing with.
Silver took a sip of water and put the call and her run-in with Sam out of her head, trying to focus on the job at hand. It was hard after her meeting with Ben. She looked at the wall clock and noted that she had four hours of work to fit into another two hours.
It was going to be a frantic afternoon.
Richard ducked his head into Silver’s office at just before five o’clock and asked if she was doing anything. She waved at the paperwork covering her desk and offered a wan smile.
“Nothing more than usual. What’s up?”
“I’ve spent more time on the partner, and it looks like he’s quite a character. Sits on the board of a number of technology companies, all of which have something to do with the brokerage industry. It’s amazing to me how plugged-in he is to big names — I mean, I’ve never heard of him, and yet he’s peripherally associated with just about everyone who matters in the clearance and settlement system on Wall Street.” He entered her office and sat down at her conference table with his iPad.
“The what?” Silver rounded her desk and sat across from him.
“It’s the plumbing that makes everything work. The back office, where all the accounting takes place. Everywhere you look the victim and his partner show up.”
“But that’s their business, right? Is it really so surprising?”
“Yes, it kind of is. Think about it logically. The markets are vast, and tens of thousands of people work in the industry — maybe more, for all I know, if you take all the peripheral functions. To have two guys so connected to everything that has to do with one area is unusual, to say the least. There are a lot of people out there trying to invent better mousetraps — competition for everything in the industry is fierce, and to have two virtual unknowns so entwined with the guts of the trading machinery is, well, for lack of a better word, remarkable. And for one of the two to be so close to some of the biggest terrorist financiers in the world is beyond worrisome.”
Silver shifted. “I get that you’re troubled by it.”
Richard nodded. “It’s like finding out that the brother of a guy who used to hang out with Osama Bin Laden is involved with virtually every company that makes the guidance systems for nuclear warheads. No, I take that back. A better example would be that he wrote the software for, or had a hand in founding, every company responsible for controlling the nation’s nuclear power plants. It’s that weird. Think about it for a second. If you just removed the words financial industry and replaced them with nuclear industry, there would be investigations mounted before I could put down the phone. And yet here we have nothing.”
“Right. But it’s not the same, Richard.”
“No, but the financial system has the same capacity to cripple us, if not more so. We’re so used to anticipating risks in a conventional sense — planes flying into buildings or bombs strapped to people’s chests — but the truth is that’s all completely obsolete. If you want to wage war these days there’s no need to drop bombs or invade. You just attack the target’s economy and pretty soon your enemy is begging for a loan.”
“But you’ve found no evidence of any foul play, right?”
“Not so far, but how long have I been looking into this? I have a good nose for crookery, and I’ve never seen a scenario that demands a task force more than this one.
Yet nobody seems worried but me. My boss was polite, but I could tell he isn’t going to push it.”
“That’s probably because nobody understands it like you do. This is pretty complex and arcane stuff, Richard. It sounds like he doesn’t have a clue what’s really at stake here.”
“I know. It’s one of the many curses of being a numbers geek.”
During the next half an hour, Richard painstakingly walked her through his research until Silver realized that her eyes were starting to glaze over. He was so passionate about the topic you could feel the electricity coming off him, like an engine revving at ten thousand RPM. But in the end, for all the intrigue, it wasn’t getting them any closer to catching the killer — which was her primary directive.
“I agree this is alarming, but frankly, Richard, I don’t see what we can do about it. I don’t mean to be small-minded, but I’m going to stay focused on the task force and try to avoid getting sucked into tangents — as fascinating as they are.” She stifled a yawn.
“Saving the financial system from itself is definitely not in our job description.” Richard shook his head and looked at his watch. “It’s just depressing that you can have a hole this big, with such profound implications, and nobody wants to know about it.”
“We can add it to the list of unfair things in the world,” she agreed.
He stretched his arms over his head and sighed, then gave her a look of frustration and…something else. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.” He paused, as if mulling over a difficult decision, then leaned back in his chair and fixed her with an intense gaze. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Silver. I completely respect your position of authority and the fact that you’re the task force leader on this case…but would you like to have a cocktail with me? Maybe grab dinner?”
Silver’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt herself flushing. Was he asking her out?
She hesitated for a few seconds before speaking. “Are you asking me out?”
Richard appeared to consider her question, and then nodded. “You know what? I am.”
A cascade of mixed emotions came crashing in at once. What was he thinking? And what was she? There was no way she could go out with Richard. It wasn’t appropriate.
Why not? He’s a temporary resource assigned for who knows how long, not a permanent fixture, and he’s close to the same rank — not that it mattered. So there wasn’t really anything wrong with having dinner with him, was there? There weren’t any rules against it. The little voice in her head wasn’t helping. The last thing she needed with all the other crap going on in her life was to get involved with a co-worker.
He’s asking you out for a drink, not suggesting you have sex on the table. Although it’s certainly been a while. And there are always going to be plenty of emergencies to contend with — if you wait until there aren’t any crises, you’ll be in your seventies before you see a naked man anywhere but in the movies. Her inner dialogue was not providing the kind of support she needed. This was crazy. The answer was no. Absolutely not.
“I’d have to get a babysitter.”
Was that her voice? Did she just say that?
“That’s what they’re for, right?” Richard’s eyes glittered. She could swear they did. Glittered like diamonds.
“I…I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Richard.” Finally. Whatever evil demon had temporarily possessed her had departed and sanity had returned.
“What? Getting a babysitter? I mean, you can’t just leave Kennedy locked in the attic. They frown on that sort of thing, even in New York — don’t they? I’m not up on all the local codes, but still…”
They both laughed nervously. The tension had been broken.
“I suppose one drink wouldn’t kill me. It’s forever since I’ve been anyplace but my kitchen at night. It might be good to get out.” Yes. And maybe he can dance for you. Take off that hot, binding shirt and swing it around his head, above washboard abs…
“Then it’s decided. You make a few calls, I’ll cancel my dinner at the United Nations, and we can go grab a bite and have a martini or something. I can even give you a ride to pick up Kennedy, if you want. Chauffeur service, with food dangled as a lure. How can you beat that?” Richard asked, and Silver had to laugh again. He did have a quirky charm.
And maybe he does have washboard abs. Judging by the rest of him, you never knew.
She felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she quickly rose and smoothed her blouse. “Okay, then. You talked me into it. Let me see what I can do. Are we done with all this for the day? Is there anything else that’s germane to the case you’ve been able to find?” Silver asked, struggling to deflect her inner tension.
“No, you just heard everything. But you have to admit, the more we look into this, the uglier it gets. It starts to look more plausible that this could be a concerted effort rather than a single perpetrator. I’m not saying that’s what’s happening. I’m saying that, given the players, you certainly can’t rule it out.”
“I know what you mean, but I’m not sold on the idea of The Regulator as a red herring. I won’t discount anything, but all along this has felt more, I don’t know, personal. Something about the way he’s carrying out the killings. Don’t ask me why I’m so convinced, but I am.” Silver realized as she finished that she sounded completely illogical.
“I happen to agree with you, Silver, although the group theory is certainly plausible. Tell you what. Let’s put this to bed for the evening and come back to it tomorrow, shall we? I don’t think we’re going to make any more progress today. I’m beat — I feel like I’m running on empty.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let me go make some calls. I’ll buzz you when I know for sure about the babysitter.”
Richard collected his papers and loosened his tie. “Okay. You know where I’ll be.”
Silver felt dizzy as he left her office. What had just happened? One minute they were discussing the world of financial terrorism and the next she’d been agreeing to dinner and drinks. It felt overwhelming. And crazy. Impulsive. Completely unlike her.
And right. It felt right.
It was as though part of her psyche had been spirited back to high school; butterflies of excitement and anticipation danced a tarantella in her stomach.
She hoped Sarah, her babysitter, was available on short notice.
Life had just gotten interesting.
Richard drove to the daycare, and after some awkward introductions, he ferried Silver and Kennedy home, fighting his way through the snarl of belligerent vehicles, obviously uncomfortable with the aggressive driving style of the New York streets. When they arrived at her flat, Silver agreed to meet him in an hour, and then she and Kennedy disappeared into the building in a swirl of hair and giggles.
He raced to his little apartment, took a quick shower, and changed into something more relaxed than his suit, then spent the balance of his time calling around to the few restaurants he’d heard of — with no success.
The traffic lights conspired to make him a few minutes late; he arrived to find her already waiting for him on the sidewalk, wearing jeans and a colorful blouse. She swung the door open and slid into the passenger seat.
He greeted her with his relaxed grin. “Kennedy all set?”
“You bet. She loves it when Sarah’s there because she can sit on the computer for hours, and all Sarah wants to do is watch TV and chat on her cell phone. It’s a symbiotic relationship. Sarah gets paid, and Kennedy gets to do what she enjoys…and I get to have a cocktail and some decent food. I hope you’ve picked a good place.”
“Actually, I bombed out on getting a reservation on short notice. But I’ve heard there are a slew of restaurants over by Union Square. Maybe we can get into one without having to pay a fortune to bribe the head waiter?”
“Beats me. You’ve probably eaten out more than I have. My evenings are spent slaving over a hot microwave and dealing with work I brought home.”
“Well, then we�
�re both in for a treat. My dining adventures have been confined to take-out Chinese and pizza from the places on my block. I do some of my better work at night. Always been like that, ever since my college days. I sort of got into the habit, and it stuck.”
Within eight minutes they’d found a parking lot that wasn’t full, and the second restaurant they tried had open tables — a cozy Italian bistro masquerading as ‘continental’ with a Mediterranean twist. They ordered drinks and took their time with the menu as the waiter dallied at the bar.
Once their cosmopolitans had arrived they made their dinner selection, and the waiter returned with a basket of bread and a ceramic bowl of garlic-infused oil. They dipped and munched, and Richard took a long appreciative sip of his drink before leaning back and letting out a sigh.
“I can’t tell you how good that tastes after a day like today.”
“Oh, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” she said and took a pull on hers.
They made small talk as the appetizer arrived — something the menu referred to as Pan-Asian Italian fusion that seemed suspiciously like bruschetta with fresh ginger on top. Silver took a tentative bite and pronounced it delicious. Richard wasted no time digging in.
The background music changed from a vaguely French accordion-driven melody to Moroccan over a slow-grooving techno beat. The ambient lighting level was lowered to suit the hour, creating a warm amber glow. The second sip of her Cosmo tasted better than the first, and Silver felt herself relaxing.
Richard made a silent toast with his drink and then grinned. “So, Assistant Special Agent in Charge Cassidy, what’s your story? How did you get to be such a kick-ass crime fighter?” he asked.
She smiled. “A ‘kick-ass crime fighter’, you say? Wow. Kennedy will love that. I think you may have just coined her new nickname for me.” She set her drink down on the table. “My story? Boy. How much time do we have?”
“It’s your babysitter that’s on the clock. But from my standpoint, I’d say as long as it takes.”
Silver Justice Page 10